C.J. Sansom - Revelation

Barak's eyes glinted. Far away, I heard the clock tower strike ten. 'I have to be at court,' I said. 'Barak, come quickly. I am sorry, master coroner, but we must go. I will report to you, once I have seen those two ex-monks.'

WE WALKED BACK with Harsnet to the main gate and out into the busy precinct. It had come to life now, the shops busy, people milling around. Seeing us, a couple of pedlars hurried over. One carried a tray full of old jars, the stink of their contents reaching us from yards away. 'Oil from the great fish, masters,' he called. 'Full of magical properties!' Barak waved him away. A skinny hand clutched at my robe, and I half turned to see a ragged woman holding a pale, skinny baby. 'Feed my child,' she said. I turned away before she could meet my eye, remembering the stories that beggar-women would keep their babies hungry to arouse pity. Or was that just another story we told ourselves, to salve our consciences as we made these people invisible?

As we headed into the gate leading into Thieving Lane, I saw there was a melee outside one of the shops. A middle-aged man and his wife, both looking frightened, stood outside between two parish constables. Two more constables were heaving battered chests from inside the shop, while another rummaged through a third chest, set on the muddy ground. It seemed to contain a variety of outlandish costumes. The crowd that had gathered looked sour and hostile, and I noted the blue coats of several apprentices. A little gang of beggars had made for the crowd, scabby and scurvy, some breechless and wearing skirts of cloth. Among them were a couple of women, young perhaps but with leathery, weatherbeaten faces, passing a leather bottle between them and laughing.

'No books yet,' the constable searching through the chest said.

'We've no forbidden books,' the shopkeeper pleaded. 'All we do is supply costumes for plays. It's our livelihood. Please—'

'Ay,' the constable beside them said. 'For companies that perform John Bale's plays, and other heretical rubbish.' There was an angry murmur from the crowd. His colleague lifted sets of false whiskers from the chest, making one of the drunken women laugh wildly.

'They're bringing the purge to Westminster too,' Harsnet muttered angrily. 'That was what Bonner was doing down here.'

'I must get to court,' I said. I did not want to get involved in what could turn into a nasty scene. 'Let me past,' I said, trying to push my way through. But the growing crowd only pressed closer together as they shoved and pushed to get a better view of the scene, blocking the way to the gate.

Barak stood in front of me and began shoving a way through. On the outer fringes of the hurly-burly more beggars had gathered, working the mob with outstretched hands. A ragged youth stepped in front of me. 'Get out of my way!' I said irritably, shoving past him to the edge of the crowd.

'Yah! Hunchbacked crow!' he shouted.

Just as we pushed through the edge of the crowd I felt a sharp pain on my upper left arm. At the same moment, I heard my name spoken, faintly, a whisper. 'Shardlake.' I cried out and put my other hand to my arm. It came away covered with blood. Harsnet and Barak turned as I cried out. I lifted the sleeve of my robe, which was torn, to reveal a long rip in my doublet. Blood was seeping through it.

'I've been stabbed,' I said, feeling suddenly faint.

'Take off your robe,' Barak said briskly. His eyes darted over the crowd, but it was impossible to see who had done this in the melee.

I did as I was bid. Passers-by looked on curiously as Barak opened the rip in my upper hose wide, then whistled.

'That's some cut. Lucky he missed the artery.' He took his dagger and cut my ruined robe into strips. Then he wrapped the strips round my upper arm, making a tourniquet. The blood gushed faster for a moment, then slowed.

'That needs stitching,' Harsnet said. His face was pale.

'I'll take him to the courthouse, then send for Dr Malton,' Barak said. 'Can you help me?'

'It was him,' I breathed. 'I heard — my name spoken — just as he struck me.' I felt faint.

We staggered across New Palace Yard into Westminster Hall. My arm throbbed with pain, my clothes were red with blood. Harsnet spoke to the guard and I was helped into a little side-room where I sat on a bench, my arm held up on Barak's instructions.

'I'll go and fetch the old Moor,' he said.

'Go first to the Clerk of Requests,' I said. 'Tell him I have been injured, ask for today's cases to be adjourned. Then go to Guy. It's all right, the bleeding's much less,' I added as he looked at me dubiously. 'Hurry, now.'

'I will stay with him,' Harsnet said. Barak nodded and left.

'Did you see who it was?' I asked Harsnet urgently.

He shook his head. 'No. The crowd was so thick, it could have been any one of those wretched men come to watch those poor shopkeepers.'

'It was him.' I clenched my teeth at a sharp stab of pain from my arm. 'He went for Tamasin, and now he has gone for me. He sliced my left arm open. This is another warning.'

'But how could he know where you would be today? No one did surely, save me and Barak?'

'You did not tell Cranmer you were meeting me? Or the Seymours?'

'No. There was not time last night.' He looked suddenly frightened. 'Dear God, what powers has the devil lent this creature?'

My tired brain could see no rational way to answer him, to account for this man's ability to hound us unseen, to know where we were at every move. Suddenly I felt giddy. I closed my eyes, and I must have fainted for the next thing I knew someone touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes to find the boy Piers standing over me, staring into my face with a look of professional interest. Guy and Barak were beside him, Barak looking seriously worried.

'You passed out,' Guy said. 'It was the shock. You have been unconscious half an hour.'

I realized I still was lying on the bench in the little room; through the closed door I could hear the bustle and chatter of the courts; from a distance someone called for the parties in a case to come into court.

'You will be sick of the sight of me, Guy.'

'Nonsense. Let's have a look at you.' He undid the tourniquet. A deep gash, three inches long, ran below my shoulder. The red wound, standing out against flesh that was white from being held in the bandage, reminded me horribly of Roger's body, and my head swam again. 'Lie back,' Guy said gently, as his fingers probed the wound. 'I am going to put an unguent on it that hinders infection,' he said. 'Then we must stitch you up. It will be painful, I am afraid.'

'Do what is needed,' I answered, though my stomach churned. 'Barak, have you been to the court?'

'I told the office you were taken ill. The clerks went to the judge and he's agreed to stand your cases over.' Barak hesitated, then continued. 'Harsnet says perhaps you should stand out all of your cases till this business is done. Cranmer or Lord Hertford can smooth the path.'

'It might be a good idea. Some of them at least. Although I must attend Adam Kite's hearing on the fourth. That is too delicate a matter to hand to someone else.'

Guy was applying a thick paste to my arm. It stung. 'Let us get it properly clean before we stitch it. You will be in pain for a while,' he said. 'You will be tired too, as your body works to mend itself

He patted my arm. 'Let's stitch you up. Piers will do it. Do not worry, he has done it many times now. I will supervise.' The boy approached, delved in his bundle and brought out a thin, sharp needle to which black thread was already attached. 'Now remember,' Guy told him, 'slowly and carefully.' The boy put down his bundle and knelt beside me. He smiled. 'I will be gentle, sir,' he said quietly, then brought the needle down to pierce my flesh.